by AJ Frazer
“That’s remarkably cynical, even for you, Ray. Regardless, it would be an absolute coup if Jagged Edge could do a legitimate interview with someone like Sagen.”
“Damn right. Why don’t we see who Ed has kicking around that could handle an interview like that?” Ray suggested, referring to Edward Davies, editor-in-chief of Jagged Edge Media UK.
“Agreed. Can you call him now? I’d like to reply to Sagen this evening.”
Ray left the room to make the call, leaving Dominic feeling agitated on the couch. He’d love to do an interview like this. The possibility that Victor Sagen was prepared to talk openly about Earth Ghost was all too tempting. In his mind, he was already creating a structure for the interview, outlining the angles and questions that would reveal the true Victor Sagen—a stripped-back-raw human for all to see and understand.
But Ray would never let it happen, the security implications would be complicated and then there was the Veda Analytics disaster to handle. Also, it would go against Jagged Edge’s charter, one that he personally had decreed. Early on, he knew he couldn’t run the business and have any involvement in the journalistic output. Too big a conflict of interest as he saw it. And, if he made an exception this time, it could easily become a precedent he would regret later. He knew on many levels that he should not do this interview.
Ray re-entered the room. “OK, Ed has someone he thinks would be perfect. Some kid called Jasper Claxon. Apparently, he’s the flavor of the month.”
“OK then, let’s get back to the mysterious Victor Sagen, shall we?”
Dominic got up, walked to his desk near the large windows, and sat down in front of his laptop. Ray stood behind him watching over his shoulder as Dominic brought up his email app and found the message from Sagen.
“All right, let’s see.” Dominic started typing, talking it through for Ray’s benefit. “Dear Mr. Sagen. Thank you for your kind offer to be interviewed. Jagged Edge Media would be delighted to conduct a professional, honest, and revealing interview with yourself. While I would revel in the opportunity to meet with you personally and learn more about your life and the Earth Ghost movement, I must decline. In my stead, I have secured for you our most talented and experienced journalist, Jasper Claxon. I personally can attest to his credentials and work. If this is to your liking, we can arrange the formalities and logistics to ensure a productive and secure interview. There are a number of details that we will need to understand in order to prepare for the interview. If you can please confirm your approval on this basis, then we can get the ball rolling. Sincerely, Dominic Elliston.”
“Nice,” muttered Ray.
“And … send. Let’s see how that goes down.”
Ray, who had been leaning against the windows, pushed forward and stood tall, hands in his pockets. “Now, do we need to consider advising the authorities about this invitation? I’m fairly certain MI6 would love to know his whereabouts.”
“Absolutely not! We have no obligation to contact them and I’ll be damned if they’re going to get their sweaty paws on this opportunity and cock it up for us.”
“OK, fine.” Ray held up his hands in resignation. “Unless there’s anything else, I’m going to head back to London.”
“No, nothing else.” Dominic rubbed his eyes. “Thanks for coming up here, Ray. I know you’ve got your hands full.”
“No problem. Welcome back.”
Chapter Four
Money can’t buy happiness, but it can get you a helicopter. Which means flying high above London’s soul-destroying morning traffic. And that made Dominic feel very happy. They landed at the Battersea Heliport on the banks of the River Thames. From there it was a short drive to Victoria to the Jagged Edge Media head office, which was a glass-and-steel tribute to modern, austere architecture. Dominic was not particularly fond of the high-tech building, but it was practical and appropriate for the world’s leading news organization.
Walking into reception, he stopped at the security desk. “Morning, Jimmy, how is everything?”
“Morning, Mr. Elliston,” replied the security guard. “Everything’s shipshape on HMS Jagged Edge.”
“Good to hear. Family well?”
“Oh yes, me oldest is getting married soon. Might have to ask about getting a pay rise to cover it all. Blimey, who knew how expensive these things were?”
Dominic smiled, heading toward the security entrance. “You better speak to the boss then, Jimmy.”
“Thought that was you, sir.” Jimmy laughed.
“You’re kidding! I just do what I’m told around here.” It wasn’t that much of a joke.
He took the glass lift to his office on level ten, which had been chosen on purpose to be below the other floors of Jagged Edge Media. He didn’t want to be in an ivory tower and he didn’t want to have to go past the journalists’ floor every time he came to the office. In a nod to his past, he put the writers on the top floor in an open-plan space. Not that many of them worked from the office—with the regularity of health scares and pandemics, most people worked from home and only came to the office for meetings and social gatherings. Long ago they did away with workstations and cubicles; the journalists’ floor now more akin to a huge Starbucks.
The executive wing of Jagged Edge’s head office was luxurious without being vulgar or excessive. Jacqueline sat outside the double doors at a large wooden desk, cluttered only by a laptop, mobile, leather-bound notepad, and designer desk lamp.
“Morning, Jacs. How are you?”
She stopped typing and looked up. “Hello, Dom, good to have you back finally.”
“Thanks. Wish I’d stayed in the bloody Alps though.”
“That bad, huh?”
He sat on the corner of her desk. “We’ll deal with it. Now, anything back from Victor Sagen?”
Jacqueline straightened, almost imperceptibly. “Ah, no. Nothing yet. I’ll keep an eye out and let you know the moment he responds.”
“Very good. Quite intriguing that he reached out like that, isn’t it?” He watched her more closely.
“It is. He’s a proper mystery man,” said Jacqueline.
“Yes, indeed.” He walked to his office.
“Oh, one more thing, Dom,” Jacqueline called as Dominic reached the doorway. “I had to remind you about the charity ball tomorrow night—you left a memo in your calendar.”
“Oh God, yes, I forgot about that. Which charity is it again?”
Jacs rolled her eyes. “It’s your charity, Dominic. The Jagged Edge Media Displaced Children’s Organization.”
“Well, I better not be late then. Do I need to make a speech?”
“No. I spoke to Anna du Plessis, the chairwoman, she will handle all the formalities. She just said that you need to be a WMD.”
Dominic gave her a confused look.
“A Weapon of Massive Donations was what she called it,” said Jacs. “Basically, be on your most charming behavior to loosen up the wallets and purses.”
“Right. Better stay off the Scotch, then.” Dominic smiled broadly. “And you’ll be coming.”
“What? Not when you ask like that, Dominic.” She dipped her head and raised an eyebrow.
“Beg your pardon, milady. Would you do me the distinct honor of accompanying me tomorrow night to a most worthy charity event?”
She fluttered her eyelashes and put a hand to her cheek. “Why, I would be delighted, Mr. Elliston. I graciously accept.”
“Excellent.” Dominic started for the door. “Be sure to wear your finest!” he called over his shoulder.
Inside his office, he strode over to the large desk in front of which were two Scandinavian-designed chairs. Being a corner office, floor-to-ceiling windows ran along the entirety of two walls, creating an abundance of light, which Dominic could alter with an electronic opacity feature. With the flick of a switch he could turn the glass from fully translucent to opaque in order to ensure total privacy. At the opposite end of the office were two black leather couches arranged to
face each other with a low coffee table in between. The visual effect was distinctly classic elegance.
He tried to read some of the reports that had been waiting for him, but the Veda Analytics situation was gnawing at him. Every angle he could think of ended in abject failure. There was no way around it. If the investigators confirmed their findings, the deal would be scuppered, Jagged Edge would be pummeled by the share market and he would likely be forcibly removed by a lynch mob of furious investors. But there had to be a way forward. He just hadn’t recognized it yet.
His phone chirped, mercifully saving him from his thoughts. It was Jacqueline. “Yes?”
“Victor Sagen has responded,” she said simply.
“Thank you.” He hung up.
He sat forward and looked at a wide flat screen while navigating to his email.
“Fuck.”
After he reread Sagen’s response, he hit a button on his phone. The call was answered after only one ring.
“Dom?” Ray answered from his office.
Dominic continued to stare at the email. “Can you please pop over? You’ll want to see this.”
“On my way.”
Dominic was still staring at the screen when Ray entered the room.
“What’s up?”
“Sagen replied. You’re going to love this.”
“Let’s hear it,” said Ray.
“It says: ‘Dear Mr. Elliston, thank you for responding to my invitation. Your suggestion of another journalist is rejected without consideration. Either you agree to meet with me in person, or I will find another media outlet. Please advise today. Yours, Victor Sagen.’”
Ray looked incredulous. “No messing around.”
Dominic leaned back in his chair, swiveling to face the gray view toward Westminster Abbey.
“You’re not seriously considering it, Dom? Who knows what this guy’s capable of? It could be a trap. Perhaps he’s graduated from eco-terrorism to all-out terrorism? He could be aiming to kidnap you for ransom to fund his next insane mission! You cannot trust this man, Dom.”
“Come on, Ray, he doesn’t need ransom money and I don’t think he’s the kind of guy to do anything that wasn’t part of his wider cause.”
“You have to be fucking with me, Dom. He’s a criminal. He should be locked up for the shit he’s done. He’s murdered people, for Christ’s sake!”
“I’ve handled worse. Much worse. In fact, there’s probably no one better equipped to deal with a person like this in our organization.”
“You’re deluding yourself! All that mountain air has gone to your head. You’re the fucking chairman of a major media empire about to make a monumental M&A decision that has no happy ending. You cannot seriously think this would be the right thing for you to do?”
Dominic eyeballed Ray. “Mind yourself, you might say something you’ll regret.”
“Well, I’d rather do that and stop you from doing something you’ll regret!”
“Ray, let me be clear. If I choose to do this, there’s not a goddamn thing you or anyone else around here can do about it,” said Dominic with devastating calm.
Red-faced now, Ray stood slowly, attempting to stare down Dominic. A pointless exercise. “Hey, you’re the boss, regardless of how ridiculous this all is. But as a friend, I am begging you not to take this any further.”
Dominic turned back to the view through the window.
“Just think about what you’re suggesting.” Ray stormed out of the office.
Dominic went to the window and looked out, contemplating the situation. Huge, high-definition digital billboards dominated the streetscape below. A Jagged Edge newsfeed ran on one of them, while others blasted ads for razor blades and perfumes. He was oblivious to the content, though. Why was Sagen so adamant that it must be him and no one else in the organization? Was it all an elaborate hoax, a trick to kidnap him?
He knew he still had the skills, the dark arts of interviewing and weaving a story around a person. He felt emboldened by the challenge and intrigued by the offer. Perhaps it was muscle memory of the thrill that came from peeling back the layers of complex people to reveal the human beneath the subterfuge. He hadn’t been in the field for a long time, but he could remember every detail of the truly remarkable interviews he had conducted throughout his writing career. He had interviewed some of the most despicable, horrific people to have ever walked the Earth: warlords, tyrants, dictators, evil men—and they were all men—who had caused untold human suffering in their bid for power. While he had been repulsed by them all, he could also appreciate why they had risen to the top of their respective countries or organizations. But even knowing this, it had never made it right to him.
Dominic reclined in his black leather chair, facing the window with his legs elevated on the corner of the desk. He remembered something an Indian monk had once told him—never make decisions. To decide is to kill, like pesticide, homicide, suicide. Decisions kill. Well, too late. Time to kill. He suddenly moved with speed and clarity. In one fluid movement he sat up, lowered his legs, and spun around to face his computer screen. Placing his hands on the keyboard, he hesitated momentarily before starting to type his response.
In.
He hovered over the send button and exhaled as if it was the first breath he’d taken all day.
Click.
Chapter Five
The annual Jagged Edge Media Displaced Children’s Organization charity dinner was being held at Battersea’s Evolution. Dominic stepped out of the car and was confronted by a number of people milling around the front entrance. It was a warm summer evening and people wanted to enjoy being outside while it lasted. The attendees in their evening wear and the building’s modern steel-and-glass facade were at odds with much of the traditional industrial architecture nearby. It all seemed incongruous.
Dominic wore a bespoke single-button tuxedo, with a crisp white Brioni shirt. He waited for Jacqueline to walk around the car and join him. She looked spectacular in a fitted black dress that revealed just enough tanned skin to be provocative, yet not scream for attention. She was in her mid-thirties, tall enough to make men feel intimidated, beautiful enough to make them feel inadequate, and intelligent enough to make them feel utterly, hopelessly inferior. Dominic, if he was brutally honest, couldn’t say he was immune.
“That is quite a dress, Jacs.”
Jacqueline beamed. “Thank you, Dom. You bought it for me when you insisted at the last minute that I take your place at some awful dinner a month ago.”
“Ah, yes, of course I did.” He couldn’t remember, but it sounded like something he’d be guilty of. Of course, he wouldn’t have actually selected it, rather just told her to expense the purchase.
“You’ve scrubbed up pretty well yourself,” she said, as they moved through the crowd.
“Thank you. Though I think my tux has shrunk.”
“Suits don’t shrink,” said Jacqueline, her eyebrows raised as she looked down at the waist of his jacket.
“Steady on!” Dominic patted his stomach.
“Suck it in,” said Jacqueline with a wink. “This is your charity ball.”
As they passed through the throng, there were many guests who recognized him but virtually none that he recognized back. Naturally, it didn’t stop him from nodding and smiling and waving at the friendly faces who all wanted to grab a moment of Dominic Elliston’s attention.
“Let’s find Anna and say hello, shall we?”
“OK, let me call her.” Jacqueline reached into her clutch for her phone.
Dominic looked around, smiling, starting to feel slightly uneasy as he waited for someone to notice that Jacqueline was on the phone and that it could be an opening to strike up a conversation with a media magnate who was also the primary benefactor of this charity.
“All right, she’s over to the left of the main stage,” said Jacqueline, leading the way.
Dominic followed, glad to be on the move.
Greeting Anna du Plessis, the
chairwoman of the charity and this evening’s host, they chatted and talked about the work the organization was doing. She wore a conservative, though elegant, black gown, her blonde hair was pulled up and her jewelry was understated. At fifty-four, Anna looked every bit the refined socialite. But she was so much more than a socialite. An easy conversationalist, she had a quick wit and sharp mind that made her charming and engaging. He marveled secretly at Anna’s energy and enthusiasm for the cause; she was an unstoppable force when it came to helping these children who, through no fault of their own, were being so cruelly treated by life. The charity was something close to his heart, having seen the effect of war and terrorism on children firsthand.
The evening went as expected. A lot of small talk, shaking of hands, people coming up to him with ideas, suggestions being hurled at him like small darts. If it wasn’t for supporting such a great cause or the event being run by such incredible people, Dominic would likely have left after the first course. But tonight, he would stay in attendance with both pleasure and pride.
Shortly after dessert, Dominic was holding court over a small group of wealthy contributors gathered near his table. Jacqueline discretely sidled up beside him and placed her hand on his shoulder.
“You need to see this,” she said firmly, handing him her phone as she led him back to their seats.
Dominic looked down at the tiny screen. It was an email from Victor Sagen.
“Jesus.”
“Do you think he’s serious?” asked Jacqueline.
“I think this man is nothing if not serious.”
Dominic reread the email, though he didn’t need to. It was brutally simple.
Dear Dominic
Time is of the essence. Be ready to leave tomorrow. You will be escorted to our meeting place.
Victor
“He can’t expect you to simply drop everything and be ready to go by tomorrow,” said Jacqueline.
“I think he’s made it very clear. That is precisely what he expects.”
